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Dazai may be lazy, but he’s good enough to be on the starting line from his first year. Good enough to easily get them into the quarter-finals of nationals as the ace in only his second year. But watching the members from Itachiyama high, everyone’s hearts drop into their stomachs. It’s well-known that Itachiyama is a famously good team, multiple members having been invited to the training camp every year. Their bright uniforms highlight the bright, vibrant features of the many members. Their captain, Koyou Ozaki, walks alongside their ace, Chuuya Nakahara, her younger brother. Behind them, Koyou’s half-brother Paul Verlaine is chatting idly with his hands interlocked with an Arthur Rimbaud, other members like the Akutagawa twins, Tachihara and Higuchi trail behind as they chat amongst themselves.
As the other team eases into their positions across the court with Gin first taking position at the back central position. Gin, their designated libero, looks completely straight ahead with the previous assumptions of masculinity from her large jacket discarded as she looks in complete ease in her black figure hugging top, her black libero colour highlighted by the vibrant strip in the middle, her hair held up by a simple silver hair stick with a shimmering silver lotus. To her right, Koyou Ozaki’s one revealed eye shines with a deadly glint as it focuses on the others, focusing on Dazai with an ugly, cruel grin. On the other side of Gin, Tachihara feigns nonchalance as he prepares his arms for the first serve. In front of him, Verlaine smiles lazily as his eyes focus on Dazai, his mere inches of height advantage in comparison to Dazai not startling in the slightest. In the middle, Akutagawa levels a gaze at Atsushi, coughing into his arm yet still maintaining an intimidating aura. And finally, Chuuya who’s on the far corner has an easy grin. And Dazai hates to admit how his eyes linger longer than they should on him, the ace, the man who attracts all eyes with his vivacious smile and defined muscles.
Tachihara serves, and Dazai’s mind is back on the game, realising the floater ball almost instantly.
“Kyouka!” He calls out, and the smaller girl is able to easily set it up, and he’s able to easily pass it high enough to let Kunikida smash it. He’s not stupid, doesn’t miss the pinched expression on the three step-siblings at his choice to pass instead of set, but he carries on. His brain is the most active it’s ever been, with more formidable opponents than normal causing it to hyperactivate more than normal. His eyes trace the ball in it’s high arcs that dance in the sky under the lights. The bandages on his skin stick in an icky way as sweat drips, slipping under the bandages which act as curtains hiding their dirty secrets. The dirty secret is that they come from a non-human specimen.
The ball comes again, Rampo setting it and Dazai jumping up, spiking it harshly with his left hand and he doesn’t get the relief of a service ace when Chuuya, in all his bright red glory, dives in and gets it, giving Osamu a stupidly smug grin but there’s a clear unhappiness in the glint of his eyes, as if he’s not relishing Osamu’s performance. And Osamu knows very well why as he lands back on his feet in time to jump up and block one of Veralaine’s spikes, his own lean power and the lack of Verlaine’s previous formidable strength making the one on one battle for success an easy victory, but Koyou easily slips in and passes it with enough strength and control for it to arc over even Kunikida’s block, the brush of his fingernails doing nothing to stop the trajectory. Dazai doesn’t look behind, but the loud bang as the hard ball hits the ground with force is enough to tell him that their’s going to be a rotation. And there is. Dazai’s only rotated to being across where Chuuya was at the start, and now Chuuya’s directly across from him.
A whistle blows, time out. Osamu can feel Chuuya’s eyes on him as he moves to the side, holding his hair with one hand with the icky feeling of sweat causing him to tug at his bandages.
“Did you notice anything, Rampo?” Yosano prompts, her eyes focused on Dazai’s uneasy motions for a second but his silent dismissal moves them back to Rampo. Rampo has a frown as he puts on his glasses.
“They-” Rampo’s interrupted by a sudden shout of alarm from Kunikida as cold hands touch the back of Dazai’s neck, unwrapping the bandages with practiced precision. Dazai however, doesn’t fight.
“What are you doing on this side!” Kunikida shouts but Chuuya ignores him, carefully unwrapping the bandages around Osamu’s neck without revealing the scars hidden, instead smoothly wrapping them with new bandages he managed to snatch from somewhere. Once he’s done, he pulls up the slightly long hair of Dazai’s and ties it up. Osamu turns to face him, a neutral expression on both their faces despite the clear intimacy of the moment that just passed.
“I will not lose to you when you aren’t even doing what you do best. Don’t try and bullshit me with your half best otherwise I will throw this game, and you know damn well that I will.” Chuuya threatens, and Osamu is aware that it’s loud enough that the others can hear but it’s quiet enough to be clear that it’s a direct threat. A clear indicator that no matter how well these guys seem to think they know Dazai, here is this ace and legendary player who knows him better. Osamu’s expression hardens as his eyes follow the retreating figure.
“Rampo, I’ll set. Sub with Kenji.” Dazai commands, and Rampo nods as Dazai heads back, taking the previous position he was in, and Chuuya is across from him with an easily levelled smile. Dazai doesn’t scowl harder, doesn’t react strongly, just looks at him. As id understanding the enigma that is Chuuya Nakhara the player is as easy to him as breathing.
Rampo realises quickly though that that thought is not so impossible when somehow the incredibly strong spiker Dazai is made and even bigger setter. Because watching from the sidelines, this lanky yet somehow active spiker with spikes that turns tides when the games gets too bad has a deadly cold stare as he sets balls with perfect precision. And when Rampo glances over to the other side of the court, there’s no frustration, rather cheshire grins and small smirks amongst panting and puffing.
Dazai the setter is another beast, a beast who is cold, calculated and relentless. The game’s pace increases, and it’s clear that the others on the court are needing to take a second to adjust on both sides, all except Chuuya who maintains that stupid grin. As Dazai lines up his sets perfectly, so that by the time the others jump it’s right there with the perfect room to spike it anywhere. The balls are powerful and fast, quick and relentless, and Dazai’s gaze never hides the demonic glint that is ready to light the court into a hellscape.
The first set ends in a victory for Itachiyama, the second for Inarazaki, the third set is the final showdown. Will Inaraziki finally be enough to defeat the likes of Itachiyama?
It’s during that third round that Rampo finally figures out why this setting style seemed so familiar.
“The Demon Prodigy.” It’s not him who says it, no, it’s Yosano. Her eyes are wide and slightly terrified. Because the demon prodigy is one of the most elusive volleyball players who rivaled even the likes of professional athletes such as Fyodor Dostoevsky at an incredibly young age. But even more, despite his boasting reputation preceding him, who he was was unknown. And yet here he was, this elusive player who high schools had been vying for when he graduated, in a prefecture hours away from the junior high he was a part of, earning them the final set with a setter’s dump. Rampo knew he was meant to be on the front lines from the first time he saw him perform. His spikes had been strong, his passes accurate and his aim exact. However, that version of him was nothing like this one. Not only had he grown exponentially in the last two years, scarily, but this athlete, who seemingly had finally put his all into it, had gained more than half the points in the last two sets of both teams combined. More than most of the star players from Itachiyama.
And as the cheers echo through the large room, Dazai being ambushed by the team as they cheer at a victory unexpected, at the joy of a bubbling feeling of accomplishment, and there’s a blanket of relief and finality in the air as the adrenaline in their bodies is laid to rest for the time being and their hearts and minds reach nirvana. And as they do, Osamu glances over to the other side. And the team looks upset, Tachihara looks especially butt-hurt, but Chuuya. Osamu can’t help the way his knees go weak when he spots the soft look on Chuuya’s face. There’s no hurt or upset, there’s fondness and love. Joy and reminiscence. Challenge and persuasion. Osamu doesn’t process when he starts moving, but he starts to move out of the group to approach the red-head who’s ducked under the net. And when they’re face to face, hands grab hold of his shirt and pull him in, and soft lips are pressed onto his with a ferocious intensity. And Osamu doesn’t even question or process, just melts into a puddle in Chuuya’s grip, and his brain is filled with a chant of “mine, mine, mine”. Chuuya separates them, and Osamu feels a sharp sting in his cheek paired with loud clap before he’s pulled into a hug.
“I’m glad you’re okay Mackeral, thank god you’re okay.” And Osamu reaches up and grabs the back of his shirt tightly too, and they revel in this. Revel in reuniting after years apart, partners once more, but maybe with a long-sought new context.